Day One

 So, to be honest, I'm not too sure how this whole blogging thing goes. I know that there's a story I've always wanted to share...and its my story. I may just do 2 blogs so that i can do that...or maybe not, Idk....

    I should give a little background information before I start. My name is Montanna :]. I am 17 years old, I am the mother of 2 year old Nathaniel, birthmother to 2 month old Thomas, and 3 year girlfriend to the love of my life so far, Daniel.  Anyways, I've always kept a diary, and one time I shared it with my boyfriends sister. Well after she read it everytime she encouraged me to write a book. So I started typing up a *rough draft* for the story of my crazy life....Since I have a lot of it done I guess I'll just do it part by part.This is VERY nervewracking for me I know being a statistic isn't the best thing in the world but i ask you to read this with an open mind, and please dont judge me...Here is my story:





Dedicated to Rachel, who wouldnt stop telling me i should write a book everytime she read my diary, and encouraged me to write more everytime she read this unfinished. :] ilyboobie
                                                       Part One


                               Prologue 
                     "God will put you through hell just to get you to heaven."


I can never say that my life was "perfect", nor can I say that it was "easy", and it's far from pretty. But it's mine and at least I can say that it is far from boring. It's actually more like a never-ending episode of Days of Our Lives.
From birth it seems that my life was something that people would want to hear about one day, at least that's what I figured since everyone told me I should write a book. Which got confirmed when people didn't believe some of the things I would tell them about my life. I was born  on Saturday  August 28th  1993, from what I was told it was a long, hard delivery, and when I  found  out that my mom was doing crack throughout her pregnacy,  figured that was the reason. At 11:11pm  I was finally born...I like to think that i'm lucky seeing how everyone says to make a wish at 11:11...I must've been someones wish. Something else happend that summer evening of August 28th 1993,  or so i'm told. My father had commited suicide. I think it was a coward move, knowing there was a possibility that he had a child, knowing the woman he impregnanted was in labor, and he did the only thing he knew. He put on his headphones and walked down the railroad tracks...very intoxicated, and pretty much waited for the train that he knew wouldn't be able to brake in time. Don't feel sorry. I dont. My anger wont let me feel for a stranger.
I can't say that I remember any of the struggles my family endeared while I was a baby. What my older brothers, Mason and Paul told me, was that we lived with our Nana...she also raised us until I was about four. 
I honestly don't know where my mom was during all of this. I know she wasn't there the  way a mother should be. I know she was into crack and other hardcore drugs. I know that she met, married, and gave birth to Zach's son, my little brother, Eric. But thats about all I know. My horrific memories begin at about age six.








                                                                Chapter One      
                                             1998
"Things that you say or do stay engraved in a childs mind forever...and they can really create problems for that child when they become an adult. Some memories just cant seem to escape."


"Daddy get the popcorn!!" I jumped up exitedly as I asked Eric's father to get the salty treat. We were going to watch a movie. I loved it when we all sat down as a family...it made me feel good and I felt that we were a real family...regardless if  Mason, Paul, and I weren't even related to this man. He desended to the kitchen and Mason, Paul, and I ran to the living room to get the best spot...the old creaky green rocking chair. Of course I got it which meant that Mason and Paul had to sit on the floor. My mom sat on the old, very uncomfortable couch, that she had got at the thrift store with Zach and baby Eric.
We had gotten about half way through Titanic when it happend. I don't think I could forget it even if I tried. In what seemed to be a millisecond, 10 or so SWAT officers kicked down the front door. "NOBODY MOVE!!" they screamed in rage. They had huge guns that had lasers on them and they pointed their lasers at everybody. A laser was on me! I was petrafied. The natural urge to get off the rocking chair and dart for my family was diminished by the fear of being killed. I was frozen with terror. They ran throughout the house, where they had recovered large amounts of cocaine and marijuana, and when the left they took Zach with them. I slept with my mom that night. I was traumatized by the memory and feared that it would happen again. I didn't even like sitting in the rocking chair any more because of the memory. And i still hate cops.
Within a couple of months everything went downhill. Zach did in fact return, and his straight and narrow path didn't last but two weeks. My mom tried to get clean at an in-patient rehabilition center that allowed her to bring 2 of her 4 kids. She chose Paul and I. Eric stayed with his father and Mason stayed with his. We slept in a room that was about the size of a decent hotel room. On the left side of the room there was a twin size bed that had a pull out twin size bed below it. On the right side of the room was a full size bed that had dresser drawers on the bottom of it. That was where my mom slept.  For entertainment in the room there was a window, and a desk that had small black radio on it. The only radio station we could get fuzz-free was 102.3 "Lake Counties favorite radio station"...except it wasn't mine. That was the only means of entertainment at our fingertips. We did get our own bathroom though. For tv, we had a T.V. lounge, where my mom and I continued our Thanksgiving family tradition of watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, even though we weren't  home and there was no delicious Thanksgiving food wafting throughout the room.
For meals we had a cafeteria. I remember one particular day, school picture day to be exact, I threw the biggest temper tantrum, refusing to get on the bus, kicking and screaming as my exhausted mother tried to shove me in. I ended up talking to a social worker in the cafeteria while I munched on rice crispies, not my first choice. She told me the importance of school and that just because I didn't like my hair didnt mean that I was allowed to avoid school.
I didnt mind living there. It was like a big family, children and parents, even the staff. We had holiday parties...every Halloween I was a princess, of course. It was overall nice.                                       When we went back home I really thought my mom was recovered...but I learned different soon enough.